It was gone. The dry dust of the overhang floor was unmarked, save for her own footprints. The three horses were cropping quietly at the leaves of the broad-leaf trees they were tethered to. She did feel as exhausted as she had expected, and sat up. The sun was high, shining down into the bottom of the canyon outside. A little tumble of ashy coals marked where her fire had been. Echoes of the strange dream were still ringing in her head. The man who had stared down at her seemed familiar to her-in a way, though he had not looked anything like him, he reminded her of her father. Thyatis shook her head wryly; there no sense in puzzling over it.
The horses were happy to see her, though she had no apples or biscuit to give them. She untied them, one by one, and led them down to the little stream to drink. The sun was high-it was nearly noon. She drank deeply from one of the rock pools in the stream and washed her face and hair. Looking in the shallow water, she grimaced at the peeling skin on her forehead and ears. The sun had never been her friend, her complexion was too pale, but her arms, legs, and stomach, at least, were tan enough to stand the sun.
Breakfast was hearty, culled from the rations in the riding packs of the two Persians she had killed the previous day. She sat on a broad, flat rock that jutted out over the stream near the overhang, in the shade of a broadleaf tree with white and tan bark. The personal belongings of the two dead men were spread out around her. Little amulets, knives, leather pouches of coin, wadded-up bits of cloth, flint, straw bound up in a knot, buckles, beads on a string, and last a crude map on poorly cured parchment. The map, compared to her own, showed the area around the city of Tauris. She wondered why scouts would have such a map.
They must, she thought, have been truly coming from the west rather than the east. The outriders of a larger force. An army, then, was making its way into the valley she sought, not from the south or east, as she would have expected, but from behind her, from the west. Some Persian force that had been harrying the plateaus of Anatolia, she guessed, called home. Nikos must have been right, the war has begun and the enemy is moving.
She finished chewing the strips of marinated lamb and drank most of the water in the skin. Then she refilled it. When her gear was repacked and the horses had their fill of the stream, she mounted again and gently kicked the bay into motion. If there was a good way out of this canyon, it was.upstream, not down. Tauris was still far away, and now she was alone.
|@0MOMOMQMQMQMQH()MQMOMOMOHQM()H()M()W()HOM()MOH(M)H()B|
THE HOUSE OF DE’ORELIO, THE QUIRINAL HILL, ROMA MATER
H
A bell tinkled in the darkness, a clear silver note. Anastasia’s violet eyes flickered open. A sliver of moonlight fell through the gauze curtains of the broad win dow across the room, only barely illuminating the furniture and the thick rugs that covered the floors. The lady sighed silently and raised herself up. Silk sheets slipped away from her body, exposing smooth bare skin to the cool night air.
“Yes?” she said into the darkness. Her voice was thick with fatigue, and she ran a hand through the unruly pile of curls on her head. At the sound of her voice, a shape stirred by the door and there was a clicking sound as the bar was drawn back.
“Mistress?” The door opened slightly, letting a ray of lantern light cut the darkness in the room. “The lord Prince requests a moment of your time.” The tentative voice was Betia’s, her new handmaiden. The little blond girl was still tremendously nervous around her mistress. The servants were sure that the “mysterious” disappearance of Krista had been the result of disobeying the mistress of the house.
Anastasia blinked twice and drew the sheets back up over her chest with one arm. The light from the lantern had fallen across her breasts and half of her face. “Lord Aure-lian, or Lord Maxian?”
“The Caesar Maxian, my lady. He is waiting downstairs.”
Anastasia sighed-some nights seemed to have no end. “Oh, bother. Well, send the young man up.”
“Here?” Betia squeaked, her voice filled with astonishment. “The bedroom?”
“Yes, dear,” Anastasia said dryly, “we mustn’t keep the Prince waiting.”
Betia scampered away, her little feet making a pitter-patter on the tiles of the hallway. Anastasia fluffed her hair with her hands and then rearranged the pillows on the bed to make a backrest. Sighing again, for she was very tired, she pushed the quilts off the bed, leaving only a single, almost sheer, sheet to cover herself.
“Tros,” she said to the slave standing in the shadows behind the door. “Be a dear and light half of the lanterns.”
The slave, a hulking Islander with long black hair, moved from lantern to lantern, lighting them with a smoldering punk. Anastasia lay back among the pillows, adjusting them slightly to better present herself. Footsteps fell in the hall- I way, the sound of heavy boots and a man’s tread.
“Hsst!” Anastasia motioned for the slave to leave. With an inscrutable look upon his face, the Islander slipped out the doors leading onto the balcony, drawing his gladius while he did so. The Duchess moistened her lips and raised an eyebrow as the door opened.
“Lady de’Orelio,” Maxian said, turning to close the door firmly behind him. “I apologize for the lateness of the hour…” He turned around and stopped, his next sentence forgotten. To cover the flush of red that brushed over his face, he bowed deeply. “Pardon me, my lady, I did not know that you had retired already.”
“Oh,” Anastasia said, her voice low, “think nothing of it. I have often thought of entertaining you late at night.” Maxian’s nostrils flared at the laughter hiding in her voice, but he kept his face expressionless. The room was lit by low warm lights placed about the periphery, beeswax candles by the hue of the light. The Duchess looked magnificent in the dim light and the shimmer of the flimsy cover that lay over her body. He looked away and picked up a chair by the window, moving it to the foot of the bed.
“Given the hour, and your inconvenience, I will be blunt. I have something of yours, something that you’ve mislaid. I apologize for not returning it promptly, but I was occupied with other matters.”
The Duchess sat up straighter, cocking her head to one side. Maxian swallowed as the sheet slipped very low, only being caught by one fine white hand at the last moment. She drew up one leg, pointing the toe. “I must profess ignorance, my Lord Caesar, I did not realize that I was missing anything. What, pray tell, is it?”
Maxian settled back in the low chair, crossing his right leg over his left leg. He met her eyes steadily, feeling a subtle change in the tension between the two of them. In the warm light, her pale-violet eyes seemed quite large. He bit his tongue.
“One of your servants, lady, was found lost on a property of mine. My own guardsmen took her into their custody but neglected to inform me of this for a time.”
“Krista?” An edge of anger crept into the Duchess’s voice, and she sat up fully, drawing her legs underneath her. The sheet pulled tight under her hand, clinging to the curve of her stomach like a skin of oil. “Did you punish her? If you have not done so, I surely will if you return her.”
Maxian smiled a little, seeing the spark in Anastasia’s eye. Ah, so she went off without permission… A reckless slave, and I do not think she understands what we are about!
“Truth to tell, Duchess,” he said, standing up and smoothing his tunic down, “I was rather pleased to see her when she was brought to my attention. I had neglected to bring any servants with me from the palace and she has done wonders for my household.” He walked to the side of the bed and sat down, catching the edge of the sheet with his hip. The Duchess’s eyes widened a bit.